


Pottery

by sloganeer



Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, tell me that you love me more [9]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anniversary, Aunts & Uncles, Domestic Bliss, Husbands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: It was a good idea. Patrick worked Saturday mornings, then the two of them took a drive out to Elmdale to check on the second store. David alternated his mornings off with sleep and the gym, but then Alexis texted him and asked if he’d like to play parent for Charlotte’s Pottery with Parents summer camp.-This is year 9.





	Pottery

“Good morning, Prince David!” His niece ran; she jumped. David just barely caught her, remembering at the last minute to bend with his knees, not his back.

“Good morning, Princess Charlotte.” He kissed her cheek. “What is this outfit you’re wearing? Are you a mechanic now?”

“It’s a pottery class, David.” Alexis’s heels clicked across the linoleum, both of them out of place next to Charlotte. “You might want to get your own pair of coveralls.”

“Morning,” he said, and they kissed hello, too. David carried Charlotte and followed Alexis to the art room where they would be spending the next 8 Saturdays together.

It was a good idea. Patrick worked Saturday mornings, then the two of them took a drive out to Elmdale to check on the second store. David alternated his mornings off with sleep and the gym, but then Alexis texted him and asked if he’d like to play parent for Charlotte’s Pottery with Parents summer camp.

“Saturday mornings are, like, my one time, David. And I hate that I’m whining about spending time with my daughter, but, ugh, I also don’t want to lose that salon timeslot. They have a waiting list of rabid mommies desperate to pounce.”

“Of course,” David had insisted. “You need your Alexis time. And I’m always greedy for more Charlotte time.”

She wriggled in David’s arms until he set her down on the floor. Charlotte ran across the room where she had spotted a friend from school. Alexis took his arm and guided him towards where the teacher was standing.

“This is my brother, David, Charlotte’s uncle. Yes, he’s not her parent. No, I won’t be here next week. Here’s my assistant’s card and phone number if you have any concerns. Thanks.”

Both David and the teacher, an older woman wearing what seemed to be a homemade tunic and glasses made of the same clay beside each wheel, blinked at each other as Alexis walked away from them.

“Charlotte! Mommy’s leaving now!”

“Hello,” the teacher said, offering her hand to David. “You promise she won’t be here next week?”

The first class was easy—mostly watching and learning the safety rules. But they did get dirty, rolling and kneading the clay to get a feel for the texture. Charlotte sat on David’s lap while they all gathered around the teacher’s wheel to watch her throw the first pot.

“Think you can do that?” she asked the kids. None of them said no.

Every Saturday afterwards, David picked up Charlotte from Ted and Alexis’s house. He got the best gossip in the car, when she was still excited to see David and not angry because he was making her wash her hands.

“Daddy says I can get a cat when I start kindergarten!” 

“You know,” David told her, “cats don’t like to be alone. Maybe you should ask Daddy if you can get two.”

She nodded. “That makes a lot of sense, Uncle David.”

On a lot of their Saturdays, David and Charlotte would drive to the Café after class and have lunch. Then they would pick up Patrick at the Apothecary, say goodbye to Amber, and drive out to Elmdale together, with Charlotte in the backseat, repeating all the best stories for Patrick. 

Then one time, Alexis asked them to keep her for the night because she and Ted had to do some last minute schmoozing with one of Alexis’s clients, and Saturdays quickly became Charlotte’s day with her uncles.

“What did you make today, Princess Charlotte?” Patrick asked, leaning between the front seats to give her a kiss.

She held up the lump of clay painted white with blue spots. “It’s for you, Uncle Patrick!” He looked, wide-eyed, to David for help identifying the thing now in his possession.

“It’s wonderful, of course,” Patrick said. “I love the colours, thank you,” he told Charlotte.

David focused on driving, but he was enjoying listening to his husband flail.

“Miss Findley said we were making something for ourselves, because we already made something for Mommy and Daddy and Grandmère and Grandpa—I hope they didn’t get broken in the mail—and Uncle David said he was going to make himself a giant mug so he could drink all the coffee in the world, and I knew you’d be sad, Uncle Patrick, because Uncle David still hasn’t made anything for you!”

“Oh my god,” David said, under his breath, while Patrick laughed enough to fill the car.

It wasn’t exactly true that David hadn’t made anything for Patrick. But he hadn’t taken any of his pieces home yet. They were all crowded on the minimal shelf space afforded him in the pottery studio. They were misfired, misshapen mistakes that David wasn’t ready to throw away. They still had another week of class, and then some extra studio time for firing and glazes their last pieces, if they needed it.

“Uncle David, why don’t you love Uncle Patrick enough?”

Patrick hadn’t stopped laughing. “She is her mother’s daughter, isn’t she?” He reached across and brushed David’s hair off his forehead, a light touch, just enough to make David look in his direction.

“I love your uncle only as much as he deserves,” David told Charlotte. 

“I think he’s jealous,” Patrick said, turning around to talk with Charlotte between the seats. “I think he saw your lovely paperweight and didn’t want to show me what he made.”

“Uncle Patrick!” Charlotte gasped. “It is a paperweight! How did you guess?”

“I don’t know if you know this,” he said, “but I am very smart.” Patrick settled back against his seat, his smirk evident, even in the corner of David’s eye. He kept the ugly paperweight in his lap.

“Your mouth is smart.” David took his hand off the wheel to pinch Patrick’s thigh.

“So there’s no happy 9-year anniversary present?” he asked. David narrowed his eyes at his husband. He was the absolute worst.

“No problem,” Patrick said. “I’ll just wait until next year.”


End file.
